


Liminal and Hungered

by Rednaelo



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Coming Out, Friendship, Gen, Gender Identity, Trans Nero (Devil May Cry), Trans V (Devil May Cry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rednaelo/pseuds/Rednaelo
Summary: "You ever try it out?" Nero asks, so cool, so aloof, not making eye contact. That's fine. V can't look at him, anyway. He stares down at his hand around his coffee cup, uncomfortably anchored to it.  He could just as easily be tipped over, spilled out over the table and onto the floor, a shameful sight.  Dropped to the floor by accident and shattered in a single moment.
Relationships: Nero & V (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50





	Liminal and Hungered

**Author's Note:**

> hi hey yeah so in this fic Nero is a trans man. V is a trans woman coming to terms with her identity and preferred pronouns. 
> 
> this story is soul-scratchingly personal so i get it won't be everyone's cuppa. that's alright. i wrote it for me but felt like sharing in case someone else vibed. 
> 
> thanks guys. love much.
> 
> -Bec

Nero gives V a shrug that tries to say that he doesn't have anything but a casual interest. His eyes were wide before he turned towards the window, pupils big and black with surprise. V's stomach tumbles beneath the press of his arm as he holds himself a little tighter around the middle, determined not to let himself shake.

"You ever try it out?" Nero asks, so cool, so aloof, not making eye contact. That's fine. V can't look at him, anyway. He stares down at his hand around his coffee cup, uncomfortably anchored to it. He could just as easily be tipped over, spilled out over the table and onto the floor, a shameful sight. Dropped to the floor by accident and shattered in a single moment.

"I don't think I understand what you mean," V says to the fading frond pattern in the milk foam. He takes a deep breath to reward himself for not letting the words tremble and crack as he spoke them. "Try out what?"

"Like…," Nero starts and then clicks his tongue. V looks to him, daring to, and is treated to the sight of Nero's nose wrinkling and his brow furrowing over a scowl. He's found that expression endearing in the past but now V traces dissatisfaction there and takes it personally. He put it there, bringing this up. "Like, did you ever think how it would feel to hear someone else say it?" Nero glances sidelong at V and the scowl fades, a little smile comes through. "You ever imagine it?"

No, never. V couldn't think of such a thing when he didn't even know to think it himself. The very idea…. It didn't occur to him until after he had met Nero, a mere fraction of his life. But now he's thinking. Now he's letting himself imagine….

"Oh," Nero interrupts the timid budding of V's fantasy - his voice is quieter, but still just as relaxed - "You ever met my friend V?" V picks up his chin, frowns, confused. "I should introduce you sometime; she's one of the coolest people I know."

V's heart is beating so hard his sternum might crack. Each thud reverberates through his skin; his fingers are tingling. His face is scorching hot, all of a sudden, and his knocking heart trips under the vigil of Nero’s smile. V swallows, keeping down the swell in his throat and the ache climbing up to his eyes. His next exhale is broken as he pushes it out. 

Nero is no longer casual or cool and instead leans over the table as surreptitiously as possible going, "Hey, hey, it's alright," while V tilts his chin towards his chest and hides. Belatedly, V realizes this was a rather inappropriate venue to have this discussion. He’s too conscious of the conversations that have softened around them.

"I’d like to leave,” V says – as evenly as he can muster – and stands. Nero’s hand is half raised, reached out, on its way to press against V’s shoulder, perhaps, but now recoiling. Nero blinks up at V and V focuses on Nero rather than thinking about any of the other strangers in this café that could be staring at him right now.

“Sure, yeah, no problem,” Nero says lightly. He nods, he licks his lips and tries a smile. “You want a ride?”

"Please," V says. His face is probably splotched and his eyes red. He keeps his face downturned as he gathers up the dishes and trash on the table.

"I'll pull around. Meet you out front." Nero steps out of his seat and leaves in a jangle of keys, allowing V a moment to compose himself quietly. If he lifts his chin and walks at an unhurried pace, he won’t draw any attention to himself. He performs this script out perfectly and then leaves the coffee shop, standing still at the edge of the curb until Nero pulls up. 

The familiar space of the passenger seat helps him breathe. The closed door and the loud of the lock, the engine rumbling low as Nero pulls onto the road.

“I’m sorry,” Nero says as they drive. He sighs and grips the steering wheel tight; V watches the tendons in his forearm flex. “I said it and didn’t even think. That’s on me.”

“No,” V says, hushed in his mouth, kept discreet. For what if the universe hears the relief, the joy, welling up? The but this time, V lets the tears just come. “No, don’t apologize.” The last syllables break in V’s mouth and a soft, pathetic sound overflows from the cracks. The tears run slow and warmly down V’s cheeks. He doesn’t see but can feel Nero agitatedly dithering in the driver’s seat, debating about pulling over. 

“Are you okay?” Nero asks, helplessly, like he already knows the answer but is at such a loss for words he doesn’t know what else he could say (and he has to say _something;_ Nero always has to say something).

V wipes the tears away and they soak into the fine lines of his fingerprints and between his digits.

“Could you tell me more?” V asks quietly. “Tell me more about your friend. Tell me about her.” V folds his trembling hands in his lap and looks out the window. The flush in his cheeks is a rubbed-raw tingle. Nero didn’t turn the radio on. The air conditioning blows softly and tickles V’s hair against his neck.

Nero swallows audibly and murmurs, “Ah…okay,” under his breath. Then clears his throat. 

“Honestly,” he begins, slipping through the next yellow light, “V is like…the coolest person I’ve ever met. Like, you look at her even without knowing her and you’re like, ‘Damn, I bet she’s got stories to tell,’ y’know?”

V nods in the pause. Tears are sticking to his eyelashes.

“She’s got a killer glare if you piss her off,” Nero says and V scoffs a laugh in spite of himself. “But she’s also got a nice smile. I’ve known her long enough to know she’s a fucking coffee snob but she also will just chug box wine if you aren’t looking.”

“Sounds like a real charmer,” V says, feeling blurred and soaked-through. 

“She’s somethin’,” Nero agrees. “Her hands are cold but they’re also really soft and I’m pretty sure that’s why she gets so many repeat customers.”

“I wear gloves while I work,” V says and wraps his arms around himself as he turns from the window and towards Nero. “No one is able to feel my skin directly.” 

“People can tell,” Nero insists. “She’ll just be there jabbing them with a needle all day but they’re still like, ‘Goddamn, gotta come back and get her to do another piece on me just to feel those cold-ass, soft-ass hands again.’”

“Is this a personal testimony?” V says, grinning fully now. The tear tracks are drying, untouched and sticky beneath his eyes.

“She’s got some sick ink herself,” Nero blows right on by without answering. His ear is pink. “Real awesome stuff. Haven’t seen the full piece myself but the sleeves are awesome. She did my back piece, y’know.”

“I know, I’ve seen it,” V says. His whole chest is blazing bright and now he’s holding himself like he has to keep it from bursting out of him, rather than keep his pieces shambled together.

“She’s pretty much my best friend,” Nero says. The car comes to a gentle halt at the red light. Nero stares out the windshield and scrapes his teeth over his lip. “She’s…she’s smart as fuck and so intuitive, it’s scary, and takes everything so seriously, but that’s kinda nice because that means she always listens when I’ve got shit to bring up.” Nero’s hands slip from the steering wheel and into his lap and he turns to look V right in the eyes. “She’s fuckin’ awesome. And if she sounds good to you, then you should be her.”

V nods.

“I’d like to be her,” he whispers. 

He never thought he could put this burden down. But Nero smirks at V head-on and his eyes glint brashly and he reaches out and takes V’s hand, squeezing down. V squeezes back. Terrified. Thrilled. 

“Could we go to your place?” V asks. “I’d…like to be in company a little longer.”

“Yeah,” Nero says brightly and doesn’t bother letting go of V’s hand as he takes the wheel again and they change routes. “I’ll order food, you pick the movie?”

“I want cake, too,” V says.

“Shit, cake sounds good,” Nero agrees with an appreciative nod. “Let’s get cake.”

“Chocolate cake and red wine.”

“You’re such a fucking hedonist,” Nero laughs, his eyes are full of delight.

“I hear that’s one of the things you like about me,” V says. She squeezes Nero’s hand and thinks of the happy tears dried on her face like warpaint. Before Nero, she had never even realized how heavy it was, carrying her life in her arms, not knowing how it bent her spine and ached in her knees. How it had always made her drag her feet with every step that she’d ever taken. But with one word, Nero invited her to put down that unnamable, hurting thing. To walk unburdened for a few steps.

And now, V can run. Now she wants to _fly_.


End file.
